Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 07 - Sudden Rides Again(1938) (2 page)

 
          
“Thank
yu, seh,” the puncher said, and gripped the proffered palm.

 
          
Through
the murky pane of the window, Bleke watched him swing lightly to the saddle of
the waiting horse and ride slowly down the sordid little street, unconcerned,
inscrutable.

 
          
“Damned
if I can fathom him,” he muttered. “For all his record, I’ll wager he’s white,
and nerve—you might think I’d just sent him to the store for baccy. If anyone
can outwit and outshoot that fiend …”

 
          
The
man on the black horse halted at the crest of the steep bluff which for nearly
half an hour he had been laboriously climbing, and sat, rolling a cigarette,
taking in the view. It was Nature in the raw. Immediately before him, the
ground fell away in a long, rocky slope, sparsely clad with storm-stunted
vegetation and terminating at the bottom of a vast basin like the crater of a
gigantic extinct volcano. The floor of this enormous hollow was scarred and
fissured with what looked to be cracks but which he knew for deep gorges,
twisting and mounting to the encircling rim-rock. Forests of black firs,
stretches of
green park
carpeted with tall grass and
flowers, small deserts, their yellow sand greyed with sage, provided a
bewildering panorama.
In the far distance, a range of purple
hills.

 
          
“Shore
is a good country to hide in,” the rider soliloquized. “A fella could be real
lonesome here, if he was honin’ to be.”

 
          
As
if in direct contradiction, the report of a rifle rang out and the bullet
whined through the air above his head. Immediately following it
came
a command:

 
          
“That’s
just a warnin’. H’ist yore
han’s
, come right ahead an’
explain yoreself.”

 
          
The
face of the man to whom the words were addressed wore a comical look of
chagrin. “Just ‘
cause
yu ain’t glimpsed a soul for
twenty-four hours yu act like yu was never goin’ to again,” he told himself.
“Why didn’t yu toot a horn, light a fire, or somethin’—not but what standin’
there on the skyline was just as good.” A querulous call interrupted his self
condemnation. “Gettin’ impatient, huh? Well, seein’ yu got the drop …”

 
          
Dissipating
wisps of smoke some hundreds of yards below showed whence the shot had come,
and with a shrug of his shoulders, he began the descent of the slope. He was
angry, not only with himself for his lack of ordinary caution, but with the
other man. That bullet was entirely superfluous. Missing him by little, had he
moved at the moment he might have got in the path of it.

 
          
“I
said for yu to put yore paws up,”
came
a rough
reminder.

 
          
“Shore
yu did, but my hoss needs ‘em—he ain’t
no
catamount,”
the other retorted, as he picked a way down the decline. “Allasame, I’d as lief
break my neck as be shot.”

 
          
Having
complied with the command he leaned back in the saddle, guiding the animal with
his knees towards the boulder behind which the ambusher was waiting. He was
within a few yards of it when the black slithered on a strip of shale and
almost fell. The violent lurch appeared to nearly unseat the rider, who only
saved himself by a quick snatch at the saddle-horn. When his hands went up
again they did not go far and each held a six-shooter. The face of the fellow
who emerged from his retreat to see what had caused the clatter was ludicrous
with surprised disgust. It was not an attractive face, the eyes were set too
close, and the uncared-for beard failed to conceal a loose-lipped mouth
garnished with tobacco-stained teeth in which there were gaps. His rifle was in
the crook of his arm, a fact which drew a hard smile from the man on the black.

 
          
“Thought
yu had a shore thing, huh?” he said. “Drop that gun, pronto, an’ then unbuckle
yore belt an’ step away from it. Any funny business an’ yu’ll be rappin’ at the
door o’ hell just as soon as it takes yu to get there.” When the order had been
obeyed, he sheathed one of his guns and pointed his remarks with the other.
“One ca’tridge is all I need to kill a coyote, an’
there’s
six in this li’l persuader. What’s the idea, holdin’ up
an
unoffendin’ traveller?”

 
          
“Wanted
to know suthin’ about yu, that’s all,” the other said sullenly. “There’s queer
doin’s around here.”

 
          
“
yo’re
tellin’ me,” was the sarcastic rejoinder. “Yu don’t
chance to be a sheriff, marshal, or any vermin o’ that kind, do you?”

 
          
“I’m
Steve Lagley, foreman o’ the Double K, an’ if
yo’re
aimin’ to stay in these parts it won’t pay yu to be at outs with me,” was the
snarling reply. “Speakin’ o’ names,
who
might yu be?”

 
          
“There’s
a whole jag o’ folk I might be, from the President o’ the United States down,
or up, accordin’ to yore political views,” the stranger retorted. “If it’s any
o’ yore damn business, I’m James Green, a puncher from Texas.”

 
          
“Travellin’
for yore health, I reckon,” Lagley said, with a heavy sneer.

 
          
“
yu
reckon good—been to school, mebbe. Yeah, the doc said my
nerves was all shot up—any quick noise or movement sets ‘em jangling an’ I have
to grip my fists to control ‘em. Edgin’ nearer that belt is on’y takin’ yu into
temptation; yu’d never make it, hombre, an’ I hate diggin’, ‘
specially
without a spade.”

 
          
The
badgered man, well aware that he was entirely at the mercy of this sardonic
person who had so neatly turned the table upon him, expressed his feeling with
more force than elegance. His audience listened with an expression of shocked
reproof.

 
          
“That
settles it—couldn’t ‘a’ been a Sunday school,” Sudden reflected aloud. He
slipped a forefinger through the trigger-guard and revolved the weapon
rapidly—the “road-agent’s roll.” Lagley gazed with fascinated eyes, acutely
conscious that the circling muzzle did not deviate in the
least,
and that at any moment, either by accident or design, hot lead might be
ventilating his vital parts.
The drawling voice went on, “Yu
fired at me, an’ missed.”

 
          
“I
meant to miss.”

 
          
“That’s
yore tale; I
ain’t believin’
it.”

 
          
“I
could ‘a’ downed yu any time on the slope.”

 
          
“I
might ‘a’ done the same any time in the last ten minutes, so we break even on
that.” The speaker pondered a while, and then, “I’m huntin’ a job an’ here’s
one handed to me. All I gotta do is wipe yu out, dump yore remainders in a
hole, wait a coupla days till they’ve done lookin’ for yu, an’ offer myself to
the Double K. Mebbe they’d make me foreman—they don’t seem hard to please. Why,
it’s easy—like money from home.”

 
          
Though
he had courage, Lagley became anxious. The cold eyes, imperturbable voice, and
the twirling gun, the barrel of which seemed to wink in the sunlight each time
it slanted down upon him, had a mesmeric effect.
Easy?
He knew it; there were scores of spots at hand where his body would remain—if
prowling beasts permitted—until it resolved again into the dust from which it
sprang. He looked at his weapons, lying only a few feet distant, and back again
at the winking warning; he hadn’t a chance.

 
          
“See
here, stranger, yu don’t look the kind to kill a fella in cold blood ” he
began, and as he saw the dawn of a satirical grin on the other’s lips, added,
“I’m sayin’ agin I didn’t try to get yu—just wanted to ask a question or two,
an’ played it safe. Now, I’ll make a dicker with yu: forget about this, show up
at the Double K tomorrow, an’ yu shall have that job yu were speakin’ of. What
yu say?”

 
          
“I’ll
take yu up on that—mebbe,” Sudden replied, after a brief consideration.

 
          
“Right,”
Lagley said, with obvious relief. “Let’s be goin’.”

 
          
He
had taken but one step when he noticed that the rotating gun had stopped, with
the muzzle pointing towards him.

 
          
“Just
a minute,” came the correction. “I’ll be goin’, yu’ll follow—presently.”

 
          
The
foreman’s face grew dark with anger. “Yu don’t trust me?” he snapped.

 
          
“Shore
I do,” Sudden answered. “Ain’t I takin’ yore word about that job? But I’m
playin’ safe, like yu did. Yu won’t have a lot to walk.”

 
          
He
got
down,
still contriving to keep the other covered,
scooped up the rifle and belt, hung them over the horn of the owner’s saddle,
and mounted again.

 
          
“How
far to Dugout?” he enquired.

 
          
“Six
mile—near enough,” was the surly reply. “Yu can save a couple of ‘em by cuttin’
through Dead Tree Gulch, which’ll be on yore right when yu get outa the pines.”

 
          
“I’m
obliged,” Sudden said. “Yu’ll find yore hoss an’ trimmin’s a piece along. I’ll
be
seem
’ yu.”

 
          
He
moved away, by no means oblivious to the ugly scowl which followed him. When he
had covered about half a mile, he tied the led horse to a branch, and, circling
round from a point where the trail crossed a patch of gravel, returned to hide
himself in the undergrowth. Only a few yards separated hint’ from the spot
where Lagley’s pony stood, swishing its tail in conflict with the flies.

 
          
“Just
the rottenest luck things had to break the way they did,” he muttered. “O’
course he’ll be mad, but I gotta find out whether he’s mean as well; he shore
‘pears to be, but that ain’t nothin’ to go on—the good in lots o’ men is
limited to their looks. Here he comes; keep still, yu black rascal.”
This to his horse, which instantly froze into an ebony statue.

 
          
Moving
with the clipped, clumsy step of one who spends most of his time in a saddle,
Lagley came stumbling along the trail. The range-rider’s boots, with their high
heels, are not fashioned for walking, and the unwonted effort had not improved
the foreman’s already-frayed temper. His lips dripped profanity.

 
          
“He
certainly can cuss,” the watcher murmured. “Bet m’self a dollar he lams the
hoss. Damnation, I’d ruther ‘a’ lost.”

 
          
For
Lagley’s first act on reaching his pony was to kick it in the ribs, and when
the animal squealed and tried to bite him, he snatched his quirt from the
saddle and lashed it unmercifully.

 
          
“That’ll
larn yu to run out on me,” he gasped, surveying the now cowed and trembling
beast with savage satisfaction. “An’ now I’ll deal with the smarty what fetched
yu here.” He buckled on his belt, examined both pistol and rifle, and finding
they had not been unloaded, laughed grimly. “Ain’t so smart, after all,” he
commented. “If he takes the trail I told him he’ll have found out that Dead
Tree is a blind canyon an’ be comin’ back ‘bout the time I arrive. `I’ll be
seeing’ yu,’ he sez. He won’t, but he’ll be hearin’ from me.”

 
          
The
threatened man watched him ride away and his expression was not pretty. His
ruse had been more than justified, and he never could forgive one who
maltreated horses.

 
          
“If
it warn’t so early in the game, fella, yu an’
me
would
be settlin’ our difference right now,” he told himself. “Anyways, I’ve shorely
got yore measure.”

 
          
He
too mounted, but he did not follow the other. Instead, he turned abruptly to
the right, picking a path for himself through thorny thickets, along shallow
arroyos and across little savannahs where his mount waded belly-deep in lush
grass. Presently, as he had hoped, he emerged on some sort of a road, deeply
rutted by the heavy wheels of freight-wagons and scored with innumerable hoofprints.
Rounding a sharp bend, he almost cannoned into a horseman travelling in the
opposite direction. Both backed a little, and sat, each studying the other.
Sudden noted the wide mouth and nose with a tendency to turn up which were the
salient features of a plain but not unpleasing face. The newcomer was the first
to speak: